Joyful Noise

Kyrie Irving is officially the NBA’s top rookie, KIA seal of approval and all. This is barely news, much like the Cavaliers drafting Irving with the first overall pick nearly a year ago wasn’t a surprise so much as a pre-ordained event that had not quite yet happened until, mercifully, he shook David Stern’s hand while wearing a Cavs cap, and we could finally excise the word “presumptive” from our discussions about him. The Rookie of the Year race circa February was closer than one might recall. If Ricky Rubio had a slightly better jump shot and healthy knees, the days leading up to this announcement might have held a few droplets of suspense. But it’s been over for some time. One pictures Irving fishing a champagne (or, sorry: sparkling grape juice) bottle out of a tub of lukewarm water this afternoon.

Of course, the Rookie of the Year award is sort of useless anyway. Irving joins an impressive fraternity of All-Stars, of past and future Hall of Famers, but in and of itself, the award doesn’t tell us anything other than that Irving was the best first-year player in the league. Which: duh. Perhaps I’m drugged by disillusionment as I saw LeBron lift his third MVP trophy with an expression that said, “Thanks for the award and all, but I know this doesn’t matter.” Most everyone in the building agreed.

In this way, awards are dually unimportant. They are not descriptive nor are they ultimately much more than living room cabinet decorations. They’re cool, sort of. If I were invited to Kyrie Irving’s home, I would probably ask to see his Rookie of the Year trophy. I would hold it for about two minutes, make an awkward joke about how he should paint his fresh-as-hell goatee onto the Jerry West logo, then we would resume talking about more interesting stuff. Because awards are really just the result of “Who’s the Best?” debates among writers and journalists, and “Who’s the Best?” debates are often an exercise in polemics. It’s entirely possible—and common, just read the various list- and debate-happy NBA sites and blogs out there—to have an extended argument about Tyson Chandler vs. Dwight Howard for Defensive Player of the Year without doing much besides listing resumés and tagging every other sentence with “in my opinion.”

Kyrie Irving is a special type of player—talented enough, young enough—who intermittently illuminates how inconsequential opinions about the NBA are in relation to the fluorescent streaks of skill that happen on the court. We can talk somewhat usefully about a lot of stuff, but talking about the moment when Irving dives into the lane off a pick, shows the ball to the best player in the league, then switches hands, double-clutches, and lays it in is futile. Seriously: try to be articulate about that thing. What’s great is that we get to talk about his highlights in incomprehensible shrieks and about Kyrie Irving as an electrifying talent like we did with Blake Griffin last year. He has only, as of yet, exceeded expectations. There’s no need to figure out his place in the natural order of point guards because we’re just so damned happy he’s here.

Which is why I can say Kyrie Irving reminds me of Derrick Rose without bothering to project if he’s going to be a better player in four or five years. Rose and Irving’s games don’t heavily overlap, but they are both characterized by their surface calm. Neither one of them are particularly demonstrative on the court; their visages crack only when something momentous has happened, and even then, we glimpse into them through hair-sized fractures. If you watch more than a couple quarters of a nationally-televised Bulls game, you will hear Mike Tirico praise Rose’s “professionalism” and how “he just loves to work hard.” These are, sure, admirable traits, but while I blandly admire Rose’s commitment to never saying anything interesting in interviews, I like him because of the instances in which his competitiveness boils him into human steam—the gentle nudge of an opponent or the sharp, short fist pump after an and-one. Rose is the laconic protagonist in a revenge thriller. He relishes these moments of invincibility, even if he uses the word “team” eight times in three minutes while talking to Doris Burke after the buzzer.

Irving is similarly calm, though his stoicism occasionally splinters to reveal a not-quite-boisterous joy. I get a sense that he loves nothing more than making an obnoxiously impossible lay-in or throwing a behind-the-head assist, even if he only does it once or twice per game. He doesn’t go out of his way to paint a Kandinsky with his body, but when he does, a grin leaks out as if to remind the world that, yes, through his veins run ice but also sugar and confetti. He’s like if a glacier could dance.

LeBron James, while dutifully lifting the MVP trophy over his head, appeared uncomfortably appreciative because, while his award doesn’t mean much, it feels like it should. That slight puzzlement on ‘Bron’s face is because we apparently took a wrong turn somewhere along the astral plane. Shouldn’t Sunday have been another legacy-cementing moment for one of the greatest players ever? Instead, it felt like a guy postponing his birthday party.But we find it difficult to celebrate breathtaking talent when it has not yet realized greatness. We will celebrate LeBron once he wins a title, but commemorating the remarkable season he just had feels, in the eyes of many… myopic? (I’m trying to crawl inside the mind of the Other here.)

But then myopia is what happens when one is truly engaged with a game. The thrill you experience when a man jumps clear over another manand throws down an alley-oop. LBJ is consistently amazing. It’s a shame we have trouble talking about how spectacular he is without appending elipses and caveats. We should remind ourselves to occasionally shut up and enjoy watching this freak play basketball. So too, should we celebrate Kyrie Irving, but that’s an easier task. Irving isn’t yet building a legacy; he’s just a delightful rook with fly facial hair. He’s also the fourth-youngest player in the NBA. He lead the league in crunch time scoring. And what does that mean for his future? I don’t know. That’s part of the joy of watching a young talent emerge. Irving needn’t mean anything. He is free to speak in the language of ambient music and lightning bugs. He’s the MVP of my heart. Do it to ‘em, Mr. Full Court.

I can understand being able to make a weak argument for Faried, but Leonard and Shumpert? I could make a case that neither of them deserve to be considered in the top 5. Those were either homer votes or those same jackasses that make sure Hank Aaron and Nolan Ryan can’t be unanimous Hall-of-Famers because Babe Ruth wasn’t one.

It will be interesting to see how much Kyrie improves over the offseason. I’d like to see his defense improve as well as his assist/turnover ratio. If he does that, he deserves to be an All Star next year.

In any given awards voting there is always guaranteed to be at least 1 NYC Homer. Sometimes I think they give Spike Lee a vote in these things.

Also Colin, love the piece as usual and I understand the ways that the two are inseparable in what they mean to this city, but I think I am ready for someone to talk about Kyrie without mentioning Lebron. Let’s let him have a legacy all his own.

I think Kyrie and Lebron will always be linked together no matter what happens to their careers. That’s just the way it will be, like how any discussion about Kobe’s career will invariably lead to Shaq, MJ, and Phil.

The only other person in the discussion for ROY was Rubio, and sadly his rookie season was cut short by injury. Shumpert and Faried might’ve gotten some consideration because they played for playoff teams, but it was Irving by a mile. It will be interesting to see how this draft class pans out. I think Derrick Williams will be a good scorer, and will take over Beasley’s role. Kanter might be a decent big, but it’s going to take 3 more years. I think Big V might be the other player with “all star” potential. (Sorry, I just don’t see it, T.T.). 2012 will end up being a deep rookie class, but not a star studded one.

Along those lines, What draft pick in this year’s draft would be the right one to trade for “big V?”

The Lineup: (Click for Author’s Archive)

Nate Smith is an Associate Editor. He grew up in Anchorage, Alaska, and moved to NE Ohio in 2000. He adopted the Cavs in 2003 and graduated from Kent State in 2009 with a BA in English. He can be contacted at oldseaminer@gmail.com or @oldseaminer on Twitter.

Tom Pestak is an Associate Editor. He's from the west side of Cleveland and lives and (mostly) dies by the success and (mostly) failures of his beloved teams. You can watch his fanaticism during Cavs games @tompestak.

Robert Attenweiler is a Staff Writer. Originally from OH, he's long made his home in NYC where he writes plays and screenplays (www.disgracedproductions.com) some of which end up being about Ohio, basketball or both. He has also written for The Classical and the blog Raising the Cadavalier. You can contact him at rattenweiler@gmail.com or @cadavalier.

Benjamin Werth is a Staff Writer. He was born in Cleveland and raised in Mentor, OH. He now lives in Germany where he is an opera singer and actor. He can be reached at blfwerth@gmail.com.

Cory Hughey is a Staff Writer. He grew up in Youngstown, the Gary, Indiana of Ohio. He graduated from Youngstown State in 2008 with a worthless telecommunications degree. He can be contacted at theleperfromwatts@yahoo.com or @coryhughey on Twitter.

David Wood is our Links Editor. He is a 2012 Graduate of Syracuse University with an English degree who loves bikes, beer, basketball, writing, and Rimbaud. He can be reached on Twitter: @nothingwood.

Mallory Factor is the voice of Cavs: The Podcast. By day Mallory works in fundraising and by night he runs a music business company. To see his music endeavors check out www.fivetracks.com. Hit him up at Malloryfactorii@gmail.com or @Malfii.

John Krolik is the Editor Emeritus of Cavs: The Blog. At present, he is pursuing a law degree at Tulane University. You can contact him at johnkrolik@gmail.com or @johnkrolik.

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